


eye(s) of the beholder

by consumptive_sphinx



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Eldritch Cuddling, M/M, Self Loathing, Self-Acceptance, Tentacle Arda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 19:12:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12732555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consumptive_sphinx/pseuds/consumptive_sphinx
Summary: Maitimo, alone of all his brothers, is careful with his marring.Tyelkormo takes delight in shifting his form almost beyond recognition; Makalaurë barely seems to care that the marring exists, except when he opens a second mouth to sing in harmony with himself. But Maitimo is careful, makes sure his eyes and limbs and mouth look correct, makes sure that nobody needs to see his uglier faces.





	eye(s) of the beholder

Maitimo, alone of all his brothers, is careful with his marring. 

Tyelkormo takes delight in shifting his form almost beyond recognition; Makalaurë barely seems to care that the marring exists, except when he opens a second mouth to sing in harmony with himself. But Maitimo is careful, makes sure his eyes and limbs and mouth look correct, makes sure that nobody needs to see his uglier faces. 

Fëanáro doesn't approve. He thinks a traditional elven form is beneath him and beneath his children — and Maitimo can understand why, has understood since he first met his grandfather and saw how Finwë’s face twisted — and when Maitimo asked him for help controlling his face Fëanáro wanted him to hold nearly any form other than the one he actually wants. 

And so Maitimo lives in Tirion, and Fëanáro does not, and Finwë is uncomfortable around both of them. And Maitimo  _ controls himself,  _ alone of all his brothers, however difficult that sometimes is. 

But however strict Maitimo’s control over his body and his form, the people of Tirion will never truly relax around him. 

He accepted this long ago; it is the price to pay for being the Crown Prince. Fëanáro's marring was passed down to his children, and people worry as they have always worried that it might pass along other lines. Maitimo doesn’t know whether they truly believe it or not, but he has seen Nerdanel form herself into the shape of her more abstract sculptures, and he makes sure never to spend too much time with any one person. 

The exception, to this as to all things, is Findekáno. 

Findekáno who seems utterly calm in Maitimo’s presence despite knowing of his marring; Findekáno who occasionally says things like “my father wanted to know if I was going to marry you;” Findekáno who is utterly inexplicable, who has never flinched away from Maitimo, who has never done wrong by him. 

Maitimo double-checks his face before he enters the room: two eyes, silver without slit pupils or tapetum lucidum; red hair, the same length and shade as always with no feathers or vines; skin, pale and soft without scales; two arms, twelve fingers, two legs, only eleven toes but at least nobody will see; the same skull and the same cartilage and the same skeleton he'd had yesterday. Findekáno has never done wrong by him; the least Maitimo can do is make it easier for him. 

“Hello,” Maitimo says, as he enters his office, and when he looks up at Findekáno's face — Findekáno has a slit-pupiled eye in the center of his forehead.

“Hello,” Findekáno says cheerily, as if nothing is wrong. 

Maitimo stands statue-still in the doorway, barely remembering to breathe. Sweet Findekáno who has never done wrong by him is marred now, and it is his fault, had he seen it before he would have stopped, why did Findekáno not  _ tell him _ — 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, and steps toward Findekáno, who raises one of his three eyebrows. 

“What for?” Findekáno says, as if it were not obvious, as if Findekáno were not  _ marred, _ and Maitimo tries to step forward and tries to step back and winds up shifting awkwardly. 

He can feel his body rearranging, concentrates for a moment on making sure his face holds its shape. “You’re,” he says, and gestures towards Findekáno’s face. “I’m so sorry,” he repeats when Findekáno frowns. 

Findekáno stands from where he'd been sitting on Maitimo's desk and closes the distance between them. “I’m,” he agrees, and he's leaning towards Maitimo and he's reaching forward and Maitimo has already marred him,  _ what more harm is there left to do —  _

“I love you,” Findekáno says, as if he can hear Maitimo’s thoughts, and he leans further forward until the two of them are leaning against one another. “You know I’ve never minded, don’t you?” 

“You have never done wrong by me,” Maitimo agrees — he does know that — and Findekáno wraps his arms around Maitimo's waist and adjusts his form until his whole body is downy-soft and perfectly sized to fit in Maitimo's arms. “I'm sorry,” Maitimo says into Findekáno’s hair. 

“Don't be,” Findekáno says. “I still don't mind.” 

Maitimo buries his face in the crook of Findekáno’s neck, adjusts the bones of his spine so they can curl around each other more easily. 

_ I love you, _ he thinks, and does not say, and trusts that Findekáno will hear. A third eye starts to sprout in the center of his forehead, and Maitimo doesn't fight it. 


End file.
